Luthor hurried through the halls with his arm clutched to his chest as though it were broken. Another wave of pain rolled up through his shoulder and pierced his heart. His breath froze in his throat as he leaned heavily against the hallway wall until the pain subsided.
“Are you well, sir?” a servant asked from behind him.
Luthor angrily waved the man away before pushing off from the wall and continuing toward his room. The apothecary glanced over his shoulder to ensure the servant had disappeared from view before he risked pulling up the sleeve of his jacket.
Beneath the thick fabric, the warding rune on his arm burned a furious red. The puckered scaring looked new, as though it had recently been burned into his flesh, as opposed to the faded scar it normally appeared to be. Most disconcerting were the black tendrils that spread from the edges of the rune. They ran like dark veins, stretching away from the scar and spreading far enough up his arm that they disappeared beneath his jacket’s sleeve.
Luthor unbuttoned the top pair of buttons on his dress shirt and slipped his hand beneath the open collar. He could feel the heat radiating off his skin and knew the black threads stretched deep into the muscles of his neck and chest.
He coughed, and it sounded raspy and wet in his lungs. For a second, his vision swam as he tried to focus on the doorway to his room. Blinking furiously until his vision cleared, he staggered to his door. His fingers felt thick and numb as he attempted to retrieve his keys from his vest pocket. As his fingers finally closed around the wide metal, he pulled the key free and with fumbling and shaking hands managed to slip the key into its lock.
The interior of his room was blissfully cool compared to the stifling warmth in the hallway. He shoved his door closed carelessly, ignoring the thunderous sound it made as it slammed shut behind him.
Stripping away his suit jacket and vest, he tossed them onto the couch. He fumbled with the cufflinks on his shirt for some time before they finally slipped free. The dress shirt and undershirt came off equally as quickly as the suit and both were discarded with as much care.
Feeling slightly more himself in the magical coolness of his suite, Luthor walked to the washbasin set in front of the vanity across the room. Crystal clear water swirled in the stone basin, and Luthor gladly dipped his hands into the water before splashing it across his face. He allowed a handful of water to pour over the back of his neck and run down his back. He barely gave a second thought to the water as it soaked into the back of his pants.
Standing upright, he observed his reflection. As he surmised, the black tendrils stretched up his forearm, weaving an intricate pattern across his bicep and shoulder before settling in a latticework of webbing across his chest. Numerous black threads culminated above his heart, leaving a wide, dark stain on the skin of his chest.
The tendrils accentuated the dozens of other small runes and scars that laced his chest and torso. He knew an equal number marred his back, each with their own purpose, though many existed merely to keep him from ever growing ill. He frowned at his reflection, the boyish face standing in stark contrast to the battered body. Though he hated lying to Simon—and he had worked incredibly hard to always remain shirted when in the Inquisitor’s presence—he doubted Simon would fully understand his predicament.
Wordlessly, he walked into his bedroom and retrieved his doctor’s bag. The vials within clinked as he brought the bag into the sitting room and dropped it onto the vanity beside the basin. Opening it, Luthor drew forth a number of glass tubes with varying colors of liquid within. Some had labels written in clear handwriting. Some had words written in a language known by few others, chemicals and plant extracts from rare fauna found only on distant continents. Still others weren’t labeled at all, their opaque liquids clinging to the side of the glass as though straining toward the cork that kept them in place.
The apothecary selected a few of the vials and pulled free their stoppers. Pouring with little thought to exact measurements, he added a rainbow of chemicals to the basin’s water. The clear blue quickly grew cloudy and dark, first turning a muddy brown before swirling to an inky black. Bubbles rose to the surface of the water. As they popped, white smoke hissed out of the bowl, pouring over the surface of the vanity before drifting to the floor.
When the surface of the water finally settled and no more bubbles rose through the dark depths, Luthor pulled a long needle from his bag and pricked his index finger on the same arm as the rune. A large, abnormally dark droplet of blood formed on his finger, and he squeezed the skin until it dropped into the bowl with a foul hiss. The water immediately cleared, returning to its crystal blue. Not a trace of the dark liquid remained.
Luthor reached into the bowl and scooped a handful of the clear water. As he poured it onto his forearm, the black tendrils washed away as though they were nothing more than soot. He claimed a washcloth from the cabinet beside the vanity and dipped it into the water. Using the cloth, he scrubbed the rest of his arm and chest. With each wipe, huge swaths of black threads disappeared. The cloth grew dirty and each dip into the basin left the water slightly darker than it had been the time before.
Before long, his skin was renewed and looked as fresh as it had been before their encounter with Gideon Dosett.
Satisfied, Luthor toweled dry before collecting his dress shirt. He left the other articles of clothes on the couch as he buttoned his shirt closed and laid down the stiff collar.
He stormed into his bedroom and unceremoniously threw aside the rug that rested on the floor at the foot of his bed. The chalk outline of the pentagram was broken and streaked, but the general shape still remained intact.
A piece of chalk sat beneath the ottoman. He wrapped his fingers around it and pulled it from the shadowy recess. With quick strokes, Luthor redrew the pentagram on the wooden floor, fixing the smeared lines. With the symbol redrawn, he walked to the side of the bed and dropped to his knees. He reached under the bed until his fingers closed on a small suitcase. Pulling the leather case out, he unlatched its straps. The interior was full of candles and incenses. The wafting smell of herbs struck him immediately, and he quickly collected a handful of candles and a small box of matches before hastily closing it once more.
The five candles were placed at the corners of the pentagram and lit one by one. Their flickering light danced over him as he took his place in the open center of the star.
Luthor closed his eyes and stretched his arms out beside him. The air grew electrified as a hum echoed through the bedroom. The lines of chalk glowed with an inner light, illuminating the room in a faint blue glow. Pulses of energy raced along the ley lines of the chalk outline.
The hum in the room grew to a roaring crescendo before crashing into silence. Luthor stood unmoving a moment longer before he spoke.
“He’s here,” he said to the empty room. “I’ve seen him with my own eyes. What would you have me do?”
He tilted his head to the side as he listened to the response. Luthor slowly shook his head.
“Forgive me, but it is not nearly that simple,” he replied. “The demon has his claws in everything in Haversham. To separate the demon from the town would be virtually impossible at this time. He would march on me with an army of unwilling thralls.”
Luthor frowned as he listened again. His arms drifted to his side, and he placed then frustratingly on his hips.
“Absolutely not!” Luthor hissed. “You sound like the Order of Kinder Pel when you say things like that. You sent me to find the five. I have located the first. If you trusted me thus far, then trust me to complete the task at hand without further interference.”
He didn’t wait for the full reply before he spoke again. “The Cabal can do whatever it deems necessary, but it will do so without my blessing or support. I trust in the Inquisitors to help, even if they are ultimately unaware of their true mission and how it inadvertently coincides with our own. Inquisitor Whitlock has yet to disappoint me; he won’t do so now.”
Before he could s
ay more, someone knocked softly at the door to his suite. Luthor raised his head sharply, though he couldn’t see the door from his place in the pentagram.
“Someone’s here,” he said to the empty room. “I must go. I will contact you again when I have had a chance to further study the demon. Until then, await my next communication.”
The apothecary kicked the edge of the pentagram, breaking the circle. The blue light immediately faded from the room. The dim light of the candles seemed unimpressive when compared to the magical ley lines that had been glowing moments before.
The person knocked again as Luthor bent down and began extinguishing the candles, one after another. He slid the candles beside the chalk beneath the dust ruffle on the bottom of the ottoman. The rug was tossed back over the emblem as the person impatiently knocked for the third time. Luthor looked down at the wrinkled throw rug and considered fixing it, but another knock drew him away.
He pulled the door shut behind him as he walked to the suite’s front door. Peering cautiously through the peephole, he saw Simon waiting stoically on the other side of the doorway.
With a smile of relief, Luthor unlocked the door. He hated leaving Simon alone with Gideon, but the pain in his arm had been exquisite. He had been unable to remain in the man’s presence any longer without passing out from the strain put on his body by the protective wards. Seeing Simon alive and well gave him hope.
Luthor opened the door and smiled broadly.
“Simon, I’m glad to see you,” he said curtly. “There is much that you and I need to discuss. Please come in.”
Simon stood unblinking. With a fluid motion, he pulled the silver-plated revolver from his hip and pointed it at the apothecary.
“Simon?” Luthor said in disbelief.
The Inquisitor tilted his head to the side as he squeezed the trigger.